Monthly Archives: March 2016

Down to My Soul concludes the journey Rhyson Gray and Kai Pearson began in Book 1 of the Soul Series, My Soul to Keep! You must read Book 1 first.

Release Week Pricing

Both Books 99¢ This Week

RHYSON

She doesn’t wear my ring.
We never stood before a preacher.
The only vows exchanged were between our bodies; between our souls.
But she was mine and I was hers until I ruined it. I have to believe that every day, every step, every breath brings me closer to making things right.
To making her mine again.

KAI

I’ve seen promises broken.
I know love makes no guarantees.
But things were different for Rhys and me, until he lied, and I walked away. Only there’s a chain between our hearts that I can’t break. Even if I forgive him, a shadow from my past hangs over us; over this love that reaches all the way down to my soul.

E X C E R P T

“Rhys?”

His name rushes from my mouth on a breath, and I’m off the bed, hurling myself at him top speed. Somehow my legs wrap around his waist and my arms tangle behind his neck. I couldn’t hold back and play this cool if I wanted to. Every part of me that’s been fighting to stay focused, to keep working, to be on, collapses against him. Surrenders to the feel of him in my arms and the smell of him. My fingers lace through his hair. I scatter kisses across his face, the sharp angles and taut skin warm beneath my lips.

“So I take it you’re happy to see me?” He chuckles, pressing his forehead to mine, hands squeezing my thighs.

“Happy?” I release something that’s half a sob, half a laugh, pulling back a few centimeters to let him breathe. “What gave you that idea?”

We stop grinning at the same time, laughter dissolving, our bodies exchanging sensual information. My breasts flattened to his chest. His erection growing and hardening against my core. Our breaths mingling and hearts tattooing beats through our clothes and into the other’s skin.

I move first, leaning in to capture his bottom lip between mine, sucking and pulling between my teeth. Licking into his mouth like there’s honey hidden inside. He groans into the kiss, walking backward until we reach the bed and dropping me so I bounce a little, his eyes roving over me head to toe.

“Pep, what the hell are you wearing?” Humor and desire tussle in his eyes.

I look down, laughing when I see the young Jackson brothers emblazoned across my chest, my legs ending in the footed bottoms.

“If I’d known you were coming, I could have made sexier arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” He quirks a dark brow, placing a knee on either side of my legs, hovering over me like a promise. “Lingerie would have been nice. Other rock stars have girlfriends who wear lingerie.”

“Oh, are you referring to yourself as a rock star now?” I grin up at him, feeling whole for the first time since he kissed me goodbye a week ago. “That’s not egomaniacal at all. Is there a club? You guys have rock star meetings? Does one of you take rock star minutes?”

“You are sitting in here listening to my music in the dark.” He leans forward to tug at the zipper beneath my chin. “Maybe you’re actually one of my crazed fans. Or a groupie. I might even find a Mrs. Rhyson Gray t-shirt around here somewhere. My girlfriend doesn’t like those.”

“No, she doesn’t.” I shake my head, eyes never straying from his.

A small frown jerks his brows together. He tugs again at the zipper, but it doesn’t budge.

“Pep, it’s stuck,” he says.

“Sometimes it does that,” I answer easily, enjoying the frustration spreading over his expression as he keeps pulling and it keeps staying.

He places my hand over his cock, hard and poking through his jeans.

“Well, it’s not exactly a good time for it to do that.”

I laugh, grasping my zipper and tugging. Wow, it really is stuck. These are vintage PJs, older than I am and threadbare in places. I’m surprised the zipper hasn’t rusted before now. I sit up, bringing our bodies closer as I jiggle the little hook a few times. Nothing.

“Just how attached are you to this Jackson Five onesie?” His glance burns hot across my subtle curves visible through the thin flannel, telegraphing his intentions.

“Well this is Michael’s original nose.” I release a fake exasperated sigh. “But I do have my sewing kit.”

“All I needed to hear.”

Sorry, boys.

He grabs the two ends of the collar separated by the zip line and pulls until there’s a ripping sound, the panels falling back to reveal my naked breasts and my panties. A wicked grin spreads across lips.

“You naughty girl.” He runs a finger over the writing on the front of my calendar panties, carrying a current that simultaneously hitches my breath and gets me wet. “Wearing Monday panties on a Thursday. My little rebel.”

I just can’t write about myself in third person for one more bio! I’m a wife, a mom, a writer, an advocate for families living with autism. That’s me in a nutshell. Crack the nut, and you’ll find a Southern girl gone Southern California who loves pizza and Diet Coke, and wishes she got to watch a lot more television. You can usually catch me up too late, on social media too much, or FINALLY putting a dent in my ever-growing To Be Read list! I love to hear from readers at kennedyryanwrites@gmail.com.

Scarlet Jennings, the preacher’s daughter who lived across the street, was a royal, uptight pain in my ass. When she looked at me, she saw a college quarterback asshole with rocks for brains, but she didn’t have a single word for what was happening between us.

When we were forced to ride together every single day that summer, there was definitely some dislike going on. Extreme hostility was a given, considering that we were spending so much time together in close quarters.

One night of bed-breaking, body-shattering, lose-your-voice-from-screaming passion had surprised us both, but it was only just the beginning…

Finally freed from her fifty-year imprisonment by a maniacal leader, she is desperately trying to recover and get her life back. Problem is, the life she had is long gone. Struggling under the weight of her memories and healing from the wounds of her captivity, she can’t seem to catch a break. Every waking moment, death seems like a relief she would welcome.

Asher Crane is a dead man.

As a Guardian to the King, his only purpose in life is to keep the King alive. And he’s failing. Miserably. With the King ill, the Queen dying, and zero plans for a successor, he’s pretty much screwed. Because if the King dies, the law says Asher dies, too.

As these two wounded souls collide in a series of bloody and unfortunate events, they will clutch to the last shreds of life before death beats down their door.

That thought runs on a loop through my head, and I want to rip the house apart in my unmitigated rage. I should go back to John and Olivia and see how I can help, but losing time with her rips apart my chest worse than anything I can imagine. I want to do my duty, but I need her more than my next breath.

She’s going to leave me.

And I can’t remove myself from this hallway. Even when Aidan comes in behind me, I don’t move my eyes from the door separating me from the only woman I could ever want.

“John wants you to get back to the house, Ash,” Aidan says gently from behind me, and I close my eyes to the battle waging in my head, and rest my forehead on her door.

She’s going to leave me. One way or another. She’s going to leave.

“I’ll make sure she stays here, but you have to go,” he says, and it takes a moment to realize I spoke my thoughts aloud. When I finally open my eyes and look at the man I’ve called a friend for so many years, he winces at the look in my eyes.

“I swear it, Ash,” he promises, and I believe he’ll try, but nothing and no one can hold Mena if she doesn’t want to be held.

I can only nod.

“John needs you, Ash.”

I stare at the door a moment longer before traveling to my King, dreading every moment I’m away from Mena. It only takes a few seconds, but it kills me, and I can’t believe John has been away from Olivia for even a minute without losing his fucking mind. How can he stand this? This clawing, gouging ache. It rips at my chest, and I have to focus all my energy on not traveling back to her. I knock on the chamber door, and I cannot fathom what I can do to help when I feel so torn in two.

Author Bio

Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, and old man of a dog.

Aurelia Constantine is having a rough century.
Plagued by visions of murder, death and destruction, she has resigned herself to the nightmare her life has become. When an enemy from her past comes to her rescue, she must let go of old wounds and heal the breach so she may survive the evil poisoning her mind.Rhys Stevens is guilty.
Murder. Betrayal. Treason. Take your pick; he’s guilty of them all. On the path of redemption, he must beg for forgiveness from the one person he fought to save – the woman he has always loved.Thrown together in the trenches of war, they must work as a team to stop a monstrous puppet master from pulling their strings.Ashes, ashes. We all fall down.
Get ready to burn.

Finally freed from her fifty-year imprisonment by a maniacal leader, she is desperately trying to recover and get her life back. Problem is, the life she had is long gone. Struggling under the weight of her memories and healing from the wounds of her captivity, she can’t seem to catch a break. Every waking moment, death seems like a relief she would welcome.

Asher Crane is a dead man.

As a Guardian to the King, his only purpose in life is to keep the King alive. And he’s failing. Miserably. With the King ill, the Queen dying, and zero plans for a successor, he’s pretty much screwed. Because if the King dies, the law says Asher dies, too.

As these two wounded souls collide in a series of bloody and unfortunate events, they will clutch to the last shreds of life before death beats down their door.

He’s not going to explain a freaking thing to me, I think as his mouth settles into a firm line. Asher’s eyes appear half pissed off and half sad. He looks like he’s struggling with something, but he’s not saying anything. I haven’t spent that much time with Asher, but I can tell getting words out of him will take some engine grease and possibly a crowbar.

I think I’d rather skip the part where he has to let me down slow.

“Okay. We’ll talk about it later,” I concede with a shrug and shake of my head.

In the grand scheme of things, I have a pretty good idea of what he’ll say. I mean, honestly? Who would pick a girl like me? I’m not sure how this whole Wraith mating stuff goes, but if the man has a choice, he has to prefer a better crop than me.

I don’t need to be worrying about this now anyway. So what if I felt a connection to the first man probably ever? So what if I clung to him like a monkey on a tree? So what if I feel safe with him, a feeling I haven’t had in a very long time? So freaking what? I don’t deserve a man like him. After the lives I’ve taken… happiness just isn’t in the cards for me.

“I’m all right. It’s not going to hurt. I didn’t even notice it was dislocated before now. It’ll get popped back in, I’ll be able to heal and walk. Win-win. You can go. I’ll be fine,” I tell him, my voice sounding almost dead even to my ears. I need to cut this off as soon as possible. His face tells me he is reluctant, but he needs to go.

“Come on Asher,” Evan says at his elbow, and she escorts him from the room, practically dragging him behind her up the stairs.

My eyes are on the stairs long after he disappears from my sight. In those moments, I take the time to shore up my heart. I don’t need to rely on Asher. I shouldn’t even rely on Aurelia or Rhys or prey on the hospitality of the Wraiths.

I should do the right thing. For once, I should do what I’ve always needed to do. But I need to be able to walk to do it.

Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, and old man of a dog.

Plagued by visions of murder, death and destruction, she has resigned herself to the nightmare her life has become. When an enemy from her past comes to her rescue, she must let go of old wounds and heal the breach so she may survive the evil poisoning her mind.

Rhys Stevens is guilty.
Murder. Betrayal. Treason. Take your pick; he’s guilty of them all. On the path of redemption, he must beg for forgiveness from the one person he fought to save – the woman he has always loved.

Thrown together in the trenches of war, they must work as a team to stop a monstrous puppet master from pulling their strings.

Hired by a stranger to write his life story, Beth Lambert arrives at a seemingly abandoned house in the hills near her hometown. She knows the rumors, she knows it is dangerous and unwise. But she needs the money. And she needs to prove that it isn’t a mistake to think she can make a career out of a dream.

Inside the house of emptiness and coldness, she finds a man with curt words and haunted eyes. He is eccentric, odd. Brutish, even. He scares her, and he intrigues her. When she learns who he is, she wants to run. But there is the money, and there is the dream, and eventually, there is simply Harrison Caldwell. The haunted man with the black, ugly truth.

***

***

“What’s happening between us?” When she didn’t immediately answer, Harrison turned.“We’re getting to know each other’s heart. I’m glad I was introduced to yours.” Beth gingerly set her hand to his chest, felt the beat of his life against her palm.

“I like your heart, Harrison.” She looked up, her eyes clashing with his.

“I like your heart too,” he told her falteringly.

***

***

Lindy Zart is the USA Today bestselling author of Roomies. She has been writing since she was a child. Luckily for readers, her writing has improved since then. She lives in Wisconsin with her family. Lindy loves hearing from people who enjoy her work. She also has a completely healthy obsession with the following: coffee, wine, bloody marys, peanut butter, and pizza.

Chloe McCarthy thought she had found the perfect guy. Someone just as detached as she was when it came to love and commitment. Someone who never pressured her for more than just sex. But when she gets a little too comfortable with their arrangement, and he rejects her for someone else, it triggers heartbreaking memories that leave her questioning her resolve for a commitment-free life. In a moment of self-pity, she calls on the one person who she knows will make her smile.

Matt Langston lives a drama-free life, and he wants to keep it that way. Chloe McCarthy? All drama. Which is why he needs to stay away from her. A mechanic by day and bouncer by night, he tries to focus on work, but the more he tries, the more she creeps into his thoughts and his dreams, until he realizes that he needs to get her out of his system once and for all.

The Fragile Line is a spin-off to The Fine Line, told in an addicting three-part romance novella series, with each part building on the last. The series may be read alone, however, reading The Fine Line first will provide a further introduction to the characters which may enhance the overall reading experience

“Is it everything you hoped it would be?” Chloe asked, as I took a bite of the most
delicious bread I have ever tasted.

This bread was so good that the garlicy, buttery, orgasmic
masterpiece of flavor in my mouth forced a long moan out of my throat. “Oh, yeah.”
I mumbled with the bread still in my cheek. “This is fucking incredible.”

The dark wooden table of our window booth was dimly lit by
an overhanging lamp with a red shade.
For a small restaurant, Ricci’s had an inviting, casual atmosphere
complete with old-time Italian music. At
this time of night, there were only a few other diners scattered about. I would imagine the place would be closing up
soon for the evening.

She leaned in and whispered, “What if I told you I know how
to make it?”

She leaned back and huffed in exasperation. “God, why are
you so macho? The name’s Chloe. CH-L-O-EEE.”

I chuckled. “If you
say so. I’ve gotta hear this. How do you know how to make the bread?”

“I dated one of the cooks when I worked here.” She shrugged
and took a bite of bread.

Should’ve known that.
But really? Was that all she was
going to give me? “And…did the recipe
just osmose from his brain to yours on a date?”

She gave me the stink eye.
“I told him I’d only go out with him if he gave me the recipe. So he did.
And we went on a date. And that
was it.”

“Lemme guess. He
wasn’t your type.”

She shook her head.
“I don’t really have a type. I
like variety.”

I nodded with raised brows, keeping my mouth shut about the
fact that she just fed into her promiscuous reputation. Was she doing it on purpose? Did she actually want people to think she was
easy? She seemed okay tonight. Why did part of me want to believe her rep was
BS?

“What about you?” she asked.
“How come I never see you with any girls?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Why no steady boyfriend? You’re sexy as hell. If you dropped the bitch act, you could
easily land some dude if you wanted to.”

There went my word vomit.
So much for keeping my mouth shut.
Luckily, she didn’t seem offended this time.

Instead, she forced out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, just not
the one I want.”

I cocked a brow.

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her lemonade.

“Maybe it’s not an act,” she continued.

I nodded in thought.
“Or, maybe it is. You seem pretty
cool now. Not clingy or—” What’s a nice
way to say ‘easy’? “—overly accessible.
It’s a nice change. You should do
it more often.”

Her face scrunched up.
“Maybe I just don’t like you.”

“Or. Maybe you like
me more than you think.” I winked.

The waiter came with our plates, a Sirloin Marsala for me
and a spaghetti with meatballs for her.
After grating Parmesan cheese over her plate, he asked the typical
waiter question, “Is there anything else I can get for you two?”

I answered instantly, “More bread.”

The kid, who must’ve been fifteen or sixteen, eyed our full
basket of bread, then looked back at me with a quizzical look on his face which
kind of pissed me off. I mean, I
would’ve eaten it all up already if he wouldn’t have been so quick with our
meals. And I wanted leftovers.

“Please,” I said calmly.

“O…kay? I’ll be back
with that in a minute.”

Dipshit.

The steak was even better than the bread. It literally melted in my mouth. Chloe laughed when I moaned again at the
taste, and I smiled, knowing that my mission for the night had just been
accomplished.

We savored our meals quietly for a few minutes before she
broke the silence, continuing our conversation.
“Maybe I’m not interested in anything serious with anyone. Maybe taking what I want and being…less than
nice…is the best way to make sure they don’t get all googly with me.”

“What the hell does ‘googly’ mean?”

“Come on, you know.”

I shook my head no.

“It’s the lovey-dovey look in someone’s eyes. Whether it’s a boy or girl, man or woman, we
all do it. It’s the way someone looks at
you when they want you to think they’re falling for you. They look at you with ‘googly-eyes.’”

“Ha! You seem like an
expert. Maybe your nickname should be
‘heartbreaker.’”

“Yeah, right. I’ve
only gotten that look from one person.
And I’m not the one who did the heart breaking in that situation.”

I nodded in understanding.
It couldn’t have been Logan. He’s
never felt that way about her. My
curiosity piqued. “First love?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

She continued stuffing spaghetti into her face as if this
conversation were over. I cleared my
throat to get her attention. It worked
because she looked up from her plate with a WTF look. “Go on, Pink, spill it. You know you want to.”

She laughed again.
Just a small one, but a laugh nonetheless. It took her another moment before she finally
started to talk.

Alicia Kobishop is a contemporary romance writer who lives in Milwaukee, WI, USA with her husband and two children.

Before trying her hand in writing, she worked her way up in the field of administrative healthcare with experiences ranging from working within a large local healthcare organization, to smaller independent physician practices.

In early 2013 her life took a change of course when she re-evaluated her passions in life, and sought out to try many new things. She reclaimed her childhood passion for reading, and after reading tons of fictional novels in a short amount of time, and loving every moment of it, she became absorbed with the idea of taking her experience with books to the next level, and decided to write one. Nine months later, her debut novel, The Fine Line was published.

Alicia loves connecting with readers. Feel free to reach out to her through email or social media.

For Olivia Sullivan, love is more a four letter curse word than a sentiment. Growing up as the daughter of a small town mortician, guys didn’t warm to the fact there were dead people in her house. At thirty, taking over the family business and becoming the town Coroner helped to cement her undateable status. Of course her past sex history didn’t help matters either.

Attempt number one with her first love ended barely before it got started with a horrific latex allergy hospitalization. Attempt number two had him coming and then going with an undiagnosed heart condition. For the past three years, Olivia has closed up shop for fear of what might happen next in the bedroom.

After being forced to go single to her mother’s lingerie shower, Olivia stumbles into an out of town bar with one intention: find an able bodied stud to go home with to end her losing sex streak. Enter Holden Caulfield Mains aka Catcher, who earned his nickname not just from the book he was named for, but for the fact he was sure to catch the attention any woman who came within a five mile radius. Waking up after a night of the most mind blowing sex she could have ever imagined, a horrified Olivia runs away thinking she’s left Catcher behind.

When Olivia’s small town is wracked by its first murder, she never could have imagined her one night stand would reappear in the form of the GBI’s lead investigator. To her mortification, Catcher isn’t ready to let go of their sizzling chemistry, and he doesn’t understand the meaning of no. As things start to heat up between them, the body count starts to rise, and they’re led on a wild goose chase from backwoods mountain Nudist Colonies to altercations with the Dixie Mafia. Can Olivia and Catcher survive to solve the murder while also not succumbing to their explosive passion?

Purchase your copy Today!

***

***

Katie Ashley is a New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon Best-Selling author. She lives outside of Atlanta, Georgia with her daughter, Olivia. She has a slight obsession with Pinterest, The Golden Girls, Shakespeare, Harry Potter, Designing Women, and Scooby-Doo.

With a BA in English, a BS in Secondary English Education, and a Masters in Adolescent English Education, she spent eleven years teaching both middle and high school English. As of January 2013, she became a full-time writer.

Chloe Madison. That’s me. A former NYU princess who just fell from grace, right off my pampered Manhattan throne and onto the unforgiving steps of Nicole Brantley, socialite and queen bitch. Now, I walk her dog and mix her smoothies. Try to navigate my own problems while fixing all of hers.

I want what every New York girl wants. A career, an apartment, and true love, preferably in a smoking hot package.

Alessandra Torre is an award-winning New York Times bestselling author of twelve novels. Her books focus on romance and suspense, all with a strong undercurrent of sexuality. Torre has been featured in such publications as Elle and Elle UK, Dirty Sexy Funny with Jenny McCarthy, as well as guest blogged for the Huffington Post and RT Book Reviews. She was also the Bedroom Blogger for Cosmopolitan.com.

You can learn more about Alessandra on her website at www.alessandratorre.com, or you can find her on Twitter (@ReadAlessandra) or Facebook.

My life revolved around two things— sex and power. As a sex therapist, I helped couples with their intimacy issues while appearing to lead a typical single life. Although I lived a civilized life during the day, by nightfall I transformed into my sadistic, dominating persona.

When a session with my submissive left him severely injured, I found myself sitting in Xavier Bennett’s office for court-ordered therapy. It was one thing to reveal the skeletons in my closet, but it was a different ball game to confess these demons to my colleague. Little did I know, he harbored dark secrets of his own.

After receiving an invitation to assist Xavier with his marriage retreat, I soon learn his intentions weren’t what they seemed. What I thought would be a relaxing work-related vacation turned into a mental bloodbath as we both fought for dominance. Walls will come tumbling down and someone’s bound to get hurt.

There can only be one Master.

Who will come out on top and who will surrender?

There’s a first time for everything

“So…” I started, looking at the couple sitting in front of me. We’d been in my office for almost twenty minutes and they hadn’t said a word to me or each other. Although they sat next to each other, they were facing the opposite direction, as if in a standoff.

Glancing down at their file, I tapped my pen against my chin and cleared my throat. “Mr. and Mrs. Patterson?” I called. They cut their eyes in my direction for a split moment before finally turning to face me.

Silence.

“Yeah, hi. I’m Gia Valencia, you know, a sex therapist. How can I help you?”

Still nothing.

I clicked my manicured nails against the polished surface of my desk, irritation filling me as I waited for them to speak. When it became apparent that they weren’t ready to say anything, I felt it was the right time to remind them of something that would make anyone talk.

“Let me catch you two up to speed. We’ve already wasted nearly half an hour because the both of you are being immature. Please remember that whether or not you say a word in here today, it’s still going to cost you $175 an hour. Now I’ll ask you again; how can I help you?”

The wife glared at her husband and folded her arms across her chest. “My husband is gay.”

Well then. That escalated quickly.

My gaze drifted over to her husband, who scowled without a word.

“Mr…” I glanced at the clipboard. “Justin, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where these accusations stem from?”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Because I watch porn instead of having sex with her.”

“Gay porn?” I inquired, scribbling notes on my legal pad.

“What the fuck?”

“This is a judgement-free zone, so don’t worry. So do you?”

He scoffed. “Fuck no! Do I look gay to you?”

“Yeah, right,” Mrs. Patterson muttered, shifting in her chair as she crossed her legs.

I blinked a few times without a word. Everyone who was gay didn’t have to “look” gay. I turned back to my notes and continued.

“So you only view straight porn then?”

“Well, yeah and maybe some girl-on-girl action occasionally.”

“I see,” I noted, focusing on my notepad.

Justin Patterson

-Possibly addicted to porn

-Detrimental to relationship

-Wife is obviously dick deprived (off the record)

I turned back to the couple with a nod. “How many times do you watch it, Justin?” I asked. He slouched down in his chair, his forehead crinkling in discomfort. “Once a week? Once a day?”

“Hell if I know. I’m not counting—“

“See? He’s either gay or cheating!” Mrs. Patterson shrieked.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a dead fish in bed, I wouldn’t have to resort to porn!” he bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth. The surprise on Mrs. Patterson’s face morphed into anger in an instant as she stared at her husband.

“A dead fish? You’re not that exciting yourself, buddy!”

“Enough,” I stated, tapping my pen on my desk. They both grunted in displeasure, going back to avoiding eye contact with each other. With a low whistle, I noted his outburst.

-Root of problem is probably boredom in the bedroom

“Justin, when you say ‘dead fish’, what are you referring to?” I drawled. I knew exactly what he meant and felt the question was just a roadblock to getting to the real issue. But since this was a couples session, everything had to be explained to prevent miscommunication between them if their significant other didn’t know what it meant.

“She just lays there and does nothing. There’s nothing exciting about our sex life anymore. We used to be spontaneous and ready to go at the drop of a hat. Now she doesn’t want to try anything new and she never wants to have sex when I’m ready. I was tired of being rejected by her, so I stopped asking and found another outlet. Now she’s upset and has it in her head that I’m gay, which is fucking absurd,” he spat, turning his gaze to the window.

-Rejection from wife pushes him to view porn instead of being with her

“Mrs. Patterson—“

“Call me Donna, please. I don’t even want to be associated with his last name—“

“Then divorce me!” he snapped.

“Whoa, tiger. We don’t discuss divorce in sex therapy, got it? Things are a bit heated right now, so let’s take a deep breath and regroup,” I suggested, inhaling deep and exhaling. They soon followed suit, breathing in and out a couple of times.

“Everyone good?” I asked. They responded with a solemn nod, looking at the floor in shame. “Okay then. The reason you guys are here is because you want to work through whatever issues you’re having. In order to do that, the hostility has to be out of the equation. Understood?” I asked, focusing on Donna. She eyed her husband for a brief moment before responding with a timid nod.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” I corrected her. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at my desk plate.

“Yes, Dr. Valencia?” she answered.

After a few moments of awkward silence, I realized my mistake. I was waiting for her to respond with, “Yes, Mistress,” completely forgetting that she wasn’t my slave. I was at work, not in my pleasure den. What in the hell was I thinking?

Deciding to push the weird exchange behind me, I leaned back in my chair and assessed them. They appeared to be in their early thirties. Justin was athletically built with sandy blonde hair and eyes so blue they appeared to hold the sky. His strong jaw was lightly covered in facial hair, giving him a tired, overworked look. Donna’s auburn hair was pulled into a tight bun and decorated with flower pins. I was convinced it was a cheesy idea she pulled from Pinterest. Despite her childish up-do, she was strikingly beautiful with her dazzling, soft brown eyes and a baby doll face. Her porcelain, ivory skin was smooth and achieved tightness and youth that only Botox could offer. She appeared to be the dainty, petite type until she opened her mouth. Some people were just more attractive when they didn’t talk.

“What do you guys do for a living? What’s your life like?” I asked as I leaned forward on my elbows.

“I own a construction company, so I spend many days working on contracts for the city,” Justin said.

“Nurse,” Donna answered.

“Were you two working these jobs when you first met?”

They nodded.

“So if you both had the energy back then to be, as Justin puts it, ‘ready to go at the drop of a hat’, what changed?” I asked. They were silent for a few seconds as Donna fiddled with her hands.

“Things haven’t been the same after I had a miscarriage last year,” she said in an octave above a whisper. Justin hung his head, trying to hide the sadness evident on his face.

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” I stated. She pursed her lips together.

“After it happened, it seemed like Justin threw himself into work, so much that I didn’t see him a lot. We wouldn’t say anything to each other for days unless it was a question about a bill that needed to be paid or when he wanted to have sex. It made me feel as if the only purpose he had for me was burying himself inside of me. I felt as if he blamed me for what happened,” she confessed, her voice cracking toward the end.

Justin looked at her with wide eyes and shook his head. “Donna, I…I never thought it was your fault. I would never think that,” he said, taking her hand into his. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she looked at him. “I guess I was caught up in my own grief and didn’t take the time to just talk to you about how I felt.” He caressed her cheek with his thumb.

I clasped my hands together. “It doesn’t seem like your problem is necessarily sex. You guys had a great miscommunication that eventually affected your whole life, not just your sex life,” I stated. He planted a soft kiss on her hand and turned back to me.

“Losing our child was hard, but I felt that I had to be strong for us—“

“But how can you be strong for me when you weren’t there? You never talked about it. Sex doesn’t fix everything. I’m not a mind reader, Justin. Your actions spoke when your words didn’t,” she said.

“And for that, I’m sorry. For the record, I do love you and I don’t blame you for what happened. Some things are out of our control and that was one of them. I want this to work with us, Donna. If I have to ditch the porn, I’ll do that if it’ll make you happy,” he bargained. She gave him a shy smile and wiped her eyes.

“How about this? For your homework assignment until your next appointment, how about you watch something together? Involve her in something you enjoy. Porn isn’t a bad thing, but it shouldn’t be your only option when you have a beautiful wife,” I suggested with a smile. Justin looked at Donna with hopeful eyes, causing her to giggle.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” she admitted.

“Great. Now if things lead to sex while watching this, I want you to write how it felt to reconnect,” I said. When they raised their eyebrows, I added, “Spare the physical details. I just want to know the emotional part.”

They nodded, relief flashing in their eyes. I pulled out an appointment card and filled it out, handing it to Donna. “We’ll see where you two are in a week and go from there. Don’t forget your assignment,” I winked, sending them on their way.

I breathed a sigh of relief once they were out of sight. Just as I closed my eyes to relax, my phone vibrated in my desk. “What does a girl have to do to get a moment of peace around here?” I muttered to myself as I retrieved my phone. An amused grin pulled at my lips as I viewed the text message from one of my slaves.

Slave Martin: I hope this pleases you, Mistress.

Attached was a photo of him in a full length mirror wearing nothing but a mask and a black g-string. Since my slaves didn’t live with me, they were required to only wear what they thought would be pleasing to me and send photos to me every three hours until we met later on in the evening. There were to never show their faces in their photos; they weren’t allowed to be humanized before their master.

G: Although this pleases me, you’ve failed to report in two times today. You already know what that means.

After a brief moment, he sent a response.

Slave: I’m sorry, Mistress. I will take whatever punishment you give me.

A solid knock sounded on my doorframe. Thinking it was Zoe, my secretary, I didn’t bother looking up from my phone. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering if you had time for another session? I need some ideas to surprise my soon-to-be husband on our wedding night.”

My head snapped up at the sound of her voice. “Arianna!” I squealed, jumping up from my chair and rushing over to her. We shared a tight embrace before I held her out in front of me. “You look like you’re getting plenty of sun and probably just as much sex,” I teased. She blushed. You’d think that being engaged to an unconfirmed nymphomaniac would cause her to ditch the prude act.

“Things never change with you,” she giggled with a shake of her head. I motioned for her to sit and took a seat next to her.

“When did you get here? You should’ve told me you were coming so I could’ve taken a day off or something!” I said. I hadn’t seen her in the flesh in a year due to our hectic schedules, but it was great to see her. Miami was definitely treating her well. Her skin was a shade or two darker and she glowed with happiness. They always say when you found your soulmate, it showed. That was definitely the case with Arianna. She also seemed a lot slimmer than I remembered in her white lace romper paired with sexy gold glitter Steve Madden pumps. If I didn’t know any better, I would think a new woman was sitting next me.

“It was a last minute thing. Zane had to check on some things at the restaurant. I hope you’ve been behaving at least,” she smirked. I dismissed her comment with a wave of my hand.

“Did your move to Miami cause you to forget who you’re talking to? What is this ‘behave’ nonsense you speak of?” I asked.

She giggled and gave me a knowing look. “You’re definitely right. Giavanna Valencia—“

“You know I hate when you call me that,” I gritted.

“Sorry, Gia, but I should’ve remembered anything dealing with behaving is unknown to you,” she smirked.

I rolled my eyes Anyway, how long are you here?”

“Just a couple of days. While I’m here, can you come with me to get measured for my dress?”

“Of course! First things first, I need to see that ring of yours!” I squealed, reaching out for her hand. She giggled and placed her hand in mind, showing her diamond engagement ring in all its glory.

“The picture you sent did this thing no justice at all. It’s gorgeous!” I gushed. She smiled and pulled back with a nod.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” she murmured, admiring it.

Seeing my best friend basking in genuine happiness was refreshing. She seemed to be doing so much better since she ditched that dickhole Julius and her annoying, controlling parents. Not only was she a successful author, she was now preparing to marry the man of her dreams. Despite all of the shit she had to go through to get to this point, it all appeared to pay off.

Arianna looked at her watch. “Do you feel like meeting with the seamstress right now?” she asked.

“Hell, I’m not doing anything else,” I said, standing and retrieving my purse from behind my desk. As we walked down the hall toward the elevator, my colleague, Xavier stepped out of his office, nearly running into us.

“Whoa, sorry there, ladies,” he apologized before steadying his gaze on me. “Ms. Valencia,” he said, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. I rolled my eyes.

“Xavier,” I clipped, trying to move around him. After a brief, awkward stare down, I finally said, “Well, can we pass? This hallway is narrow and my hips won’t allow the both of us to pass.” He grinned and stepped aside, allowing Arianna and I to move around him. Arianna glanced over her shoulder as we walked away and shook her head at me.

“I think he likes you,” she said.

“Who, Xavier?”

“Uh yeah.”

“Why in the world would you think that? Actually, it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t be interested anyhow.”

“Whatever, G. You can’t block yourself from love forever. Someone is going to tame you one of these days,” she said. I laughed and gave her shoulder a playful shake.

“You’ve obtained a sense a humor since you’ve moved away, my dear. It’ll be a cold day in hell before someone tames this beast.”

Victoria Bright is from a small town in North Carolina and currently resides in Greenville, South Carolina. You can usually find her hoarding bottles of Cool Blue Gatorade, playing The Sims when not writing, or obsessing over Camaros.

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Maneater (A Love in the 80s: A New Adult Mix)Cambria Hebert
Published by: WaWa Productions
Publication date: March 25th 2016
Genres: New Adult Throw Back

Watch out, girls. Here she comes.

There’s always that girl. She’s popular, beautiful, and has everything together. The one with the perfectly teased hair, arms full of colorful (but coordinated) bangles, and expertly painted bright-pink lips.

A teacher’s pet. Daddy’s girl.

Everyone loves her.

Because everyone is afraid to challenge her.

Kelly Ross is that girl. She uses her powers of popularity for good… her own good. She doesn’t care who she hurts.

She always gets what she wants.

Including your man.

When she walks down the hallway in her hot-pink heels and ruffled denim miniskirt, all the boys’ heads turn. And all the girls start whispering.

Man-eater.

There hasn’t been a single guy Kelly hasn’t been able to chew up and spit out.

Until now.

Kelly has finally met her match. He’s been there all along, and he’s the exact opposite of everything you’d expect.

A: No! They are all standalones, written by different authors. What makes them a series is the 80’s romance theme!

Q: Are these in Ebook format only?

A: Yes, these are short novellas that are in Ebook only.

Author Bio:

Cambria Hebert is an award winning, bestselling novelist of more than twenty books. She went to college for a bachelor’s degree, couldn’t pick a major, and ended up with a degree in cosmetology. So rest assured her characters will always have good hair.

Besides writing, Cambria loves a caramel latte, staying up late, sleeping in, and watching movies. She considers math human torture and has an irrational fear of chickens (yes, chickens). You can often find her running on the treadmill (she’d rather be eating a donut), painting her toenails (because she bites her fingernails), or walking her chorkie (the real boss of the house).

Cambria has written within the young adult and new adult genres, penning many paranormal and contemporary titles. Her favorite genre to read and write is romantic suspense. A few of her most recognized titles are: The Hashtag Series, Text, Torch, and Tattoo.

Finding My Prince Charming Series by J.S. Cooper

Delirious Series by Clarissa Wild

Seek - Prequel

Snare - Book 1

Seize - Book 2

Don’t Close Your Eyes (Bryant Brothers Book 1) by Hillary Storm

My life ended the day I answered the door and found out James had died. Writing has become my only release and secluding myself from the people who constantly judge me for my way of grieving has made me famous. I'm not ready to love again, in fact it's not even a thought.

Someone needs to tell that to Liam. He's breaking through all of the walls I've worked so hard to create. How can one man be so intriguing? He just gets me, maybe a little too well.